Truly Madly Deeply: a Descent into Darkness
by SimplyMaddening27
Summary: She let herself fall into madness for nothing, but she would do it all over again. Or so, Harley Quinn thinks. Harley of all people should know the extreme changes a mind can make in such a short time. A new life, a better future- what will Harley do when the man of her dreams, or perhaps, her nightmares returns for her, from the dead?[I do not own any characters from DC Comics]


**Truly Madly Deeply: a Descent into Darkness**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman. I do not own any characters from DC Comics. Basically, I own nothing. Now that you've made me say it out loud, excuse me while I go cry in my corner.

A/N: Hey Err'body. I just thought I would try my hand at this writing thing. I'm sorry if I'm a bit OOC right now. Anyways, though… Give me your reviews, and whatnot, and I'll post the first chapter soon. ^~^ Thanks.

**Prologue**

5 years ago…

Joker watches Harley prancing about the storeroom, holding his beautiful blueprints up over her head.

"Harley, stop it," he says. It's aggravating, the things this woman does.

"But Mistah J," she gleefully exclaims, "this is perfect! We'll get ol' Batsy for sure, this time!"

He twitches and notices he's doing that thing with his fingers again, fiddling them the way he does when he wants to hurt her.

"I said, stop it, Harley."

Her hands fall to her sides in a defeated sort of manner and she comes to a halt in front of him, her head tilts down, big blue eyes watching him—seeking his forgiveness.

Ah, this is the way he likes her. Bent to his will. Wanting to please.

"Good girl," he says, but he only half means it.

She smiles. Such a bright smile—not the kind a broken girl should have. He frowns and his hand twitches. He ought to slap her. Put her back in her place.

"You're so troublesome, sometimes, Harls," he says. His words will do it for him. No need to exert himself before taking on The Bat.

The Joker smiles at her response. She sets the blueprints back on the desk beside him, and leans in, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes glance up at him like a wounded

puppy. Her lips are curved somewhere between smile and a grimace.

"C'mon, Puddin'," she says. Her voice is low, hesitant almost. He holds back his laughter.

"What is it, Harleykins?" he asks, in a mocking tone. It's so sickening that it's almost funny.

"Give your ol' Harley a kiss," she squeaks.

"No, Harley," he says, pushing her away so that she loses her balance and falls to the floor. "I don't think so. Not right now. Daddy's busy."

Harley pouts, "But J—"

"I said no," he growls.

She shies away at the tone of his voice, scooting across the floor and away from him, only slightly.

"Yes, Mistah J. I'm sorry, Mistah J."

He turns away from her, unfolding the prints across the desk, and doesn't bother to contain his smile.

_Poor Fool_, he thinks to himself. He almost feels bad about what he's going to have to do to her. _Almost_. But she can't know the full extent of his plan. Not yet, anyway.

"You don't let me in anymore," she says from the floor.

He laughs and continues to look at the plans.

"Did I ever?" he asks her, jokingly, only she wouldn't know it. It's meant to hit her right at the core, meant to hurt her a little.

She doesn't say anything for a long time, and then, as hesitant as ever asks, "Mistah J?"

"Hmm..?"

"Where do I fit into your plan?"

It's just hit her. He holds in his laughter. She's just too _amusing_ sometimes.

"I guess," he says, rolling the plans back up, "you'll just have to see."

—

She watches it all unfold in slow motion, as if her tormented mind cannot even begin to comprehend the scene unfolding in front of her hollow blue stare.

"My God—" Gordon gasps, an unconscious thought, words that mean nothing to Harley. "Batman, what happened in there?"

This isn't part of the plan. Harley bites her bottom lip and peers around the dark red bricks of the alley wall, unable to look away. Her fingers curl into the grout and she lets

out a nervous sort of laughter, softer than usual, sadder. Her poor Puddin' must have been tired, he hadn't been feeling himself lately. She recalls the last few weeks—no

smiles, no jokes, no maddening laughter.

_He was tired_, she thinks. She wants to understand. More than anything, she wants him to sit up in The Bat's arms and laugh and say, "Just kidding." The joke's on her this

time, though. She knows it is. He's gone and left her alone. He's sure to have done it on purpose.

She can almost hate him. _Almost._

The Bat remains silent and stands before the group of officers more in defeat than in victory. In his arms, a limp Joker lays bent every-which-way, face contorted, scars still

twisted up in their sick, sadistic smile. A thought creeps into the back of Harley's mind, a voice that she knows all too well, a voice she adores and admires. It's almost as the

Joker had said, about he and The Bat...one can not live without the other; they are each other's purpose, that drive that pushes each of them forward. Such a silly thought,

Harley knows. Of course Batman's life will continue moving forward, even if Joker's life has been halted, ended. There will be new villains to fight; there will be new stories to

tell. Someday, she'll make him pay for what he's done. Someday she'll know how to end him the way he has ended J, the way he has ended her.

_ Mistah J!_ Harley's mind screams. The words will not leave her parted, painted lips. She cannot conjure the courage to step away from the shadows, even as the Bat sets J

oker down onto the blinding white hood of the nearest police cruiser. She thinks to run out to them, to throw herself onto Joker and stay there, her arms wrapped tightly

around him, until one of those justice thugs carries her off to Arkham, but her body will not move. She feels numb. She feels empty.

It's painful. She tries to laugh, but can't. Of course he'd leave her like this. Had she ever really had him to begin with? She knows she's been fooling herself these past few

years. She knows she's the one who's gone completely mad. But she loves him. She can't help but love him.

_Someone do something_, she thinks. _Shake him, spray him with water, make a joke— _

"We need to go now, Harley," someone says. Gentle fingers curl around her upper arm and pull her back into the alley, and she steps with them until she can no longer see

her puddin' lying there on that car hood. She stops and tries to tug away, wants to go back to where she's been standing so that she can at least see him, or what's left of him.

She cannot leave him alone, no—not now after all this time. They are a team now; they are a part of each other.

_ Selfish. That's what he is._

"Harley," Poison Ivy says. "C'mon, we need to get out of here."

"But Red," Harley says. She turns so that she is facing her and wipes an arm over the white and black makeup under her eyes that cascades down her face, like the wax of a

melting candle. She can't stop the tears, can't bring herself to even smile. These past two years have been nothing but laughs—well, almost nothing but laughs—and now there

is nothing she can do but cry. Her heart hurts.

It's broken, this time.

"Red, I can't leave J."

Poison Ivy's frown deepens and she tugs her little harlequin friend into tight hug. She pats Harley's back and coos into ear, "It's alright, Harls. We'll get him back for you."

Harley nods, the numbness completely taking over her now. When Ivy pulls away, taking Harley's hand in hers, the clown-girl follows quietly, willingly letting herself be

pulled away from Joker.

She knows that secretly, Red is happy. This is the last time she will ever have to pull her friend away from Joker. Harley is safe now; she can turn herself back around—start

anew. There is no one left to hold her captive, though she has never seen it in that way. There will be no more making Joker angry, no more violent nights, no more pleading.

She lets out a sob, her voice echoing down the alley ahead of them. It's over.

It's over, Mistah J…

—

Later that night, alone in the bed she has shared with Joker, Harley tosses and turns in the sheets, her face pressing against his make-up stained pillow, desperately trying

to cling to his scent. It's all she has left of him now. This thought, these fleeting memories.

She frowns and sobs into fabric. It all seems so pointless now. She's let herself fall into madness for nothing.

_ But wouldn't you do it again, Harls? Wouldn't you do it for Daddy?_

She almost giggles as she softly replies, "Yes, Mistah J. I would."


End file.
